CHAPTER LIII

JASON’S STORY

The court was full of commotion. Pasco Pepperill had fallen, as though struck down by a hammer, and was insensible. He was carried out with difficulty, and with the crowd rushing about him and his bearers, unable to realise what had taken place, anxious to see if he were dead.

He was not dead: a doctor was hastily summoned to the house into which he was taken, and he pronounced the case to be one of apoplexy brought on by sudden and violent emotion.

Meantime, inside the court order was gradually restored.

The chairman made a feeling allusion to the sudden illness which had fallen on the most important witness in the case’which was the less to be wondered at, since the case was one that must deeply move Mr. Pepperill, as he had to appear against a member of his own family.

Then Mr. Pooke, with a mottled face, pushed up to the Bench, and whispered something in the ear of the chairman.

“I beg pardon, I do not understand,” said he.

“Sir,” said Mr. Pooke, “the real culprit has come to deliver himself up’Jason Quarm, who set fire to the rick, for which his daughter stands here accused wrongfully by the biggest rascal that ever breathed.”

“Call Jason Quarm!” said the magistrate.

Jason at once hobbled forward and pushed himself in beside Kate, who was trembling with emotions of the most varied nature. Jason cleared his throat and said’

“I, your worships, I, and none but I, set fire to the rick at Coombe Cellars, and I did it by inadvertence. Please you to remove my daughter from this dock, and hear her presently as witness.”

“Let us hear first what you have to say. We cannot discharge her till we know that she is innocent.”

“She is innocent, as innocent as the day. May it please your worships to hear what I have to relate. It’s a main long story,” said Jason.

“What is to the point we will listen to. So you surrender yourself as having fired the rick.”

“I did it, your worship. This is how it came about’you may put me on oath if you will.”

“Stay a moment. I have to caution you that you are not obliged to say anything, unless you desire to do so; but whatever you say will be taken down in writing, and may be given in evidence against you upon your trial.”

“I quite understand that,” said Quarm. “If I may be allowed a seat, I shall be obliged. I’ve got one leg a bit shorter than the other, and it’s rayther a trouble for me to stand long, and I’ve a goodish long tale to tell.”

“I again remind you that what you say must be to the point.”

“I shan’t wander,” answered Jason. “But I shall have to begin some way back, and that in March last, when Mr. Pooke’s rick was set a-blazin’. That were thought to ha’ been the doin’ of Roger Redmore, and there was a warrant out agin him, but he wor niver ketched.”

“Does this concern the case before the court?”

“Ay, it do’intimate like.”

“Very well, then, proceed. We have ordered you to be accommodated with a chair, and your daughter likewise.”

“Roger Redmore, he runned away, and the constables never ketched he. My daughter Kitty, her took on terrible over the poor wife as was turned out of house and home by Mr. Pooke, and her persuaded me to let the woman have my cottage, for she and the little ones. I didn’t mind, as I was away on the moor busy about Brimpts oak wood, and when I comed back to Coombe, I wor mostly at the Cellars. My sister Zerah, she be that rapscallion Pasco’s wife, you understand, your worship.”

“Is this really to the point? You are speaking of the fire at Mr. Pooke’s, not of that at Mr. Pepperill’s.”

“One fire hangs on to the other. You’ll find that out, gents, when you’ve heard my tale.”

“Proceed, then.”

“Well’it seems that Roger Redmore felt mighty grateful because of what Kitty and I had done. I was agent for an insurance company, and I persuaded my brother-in-law to insure in it, but I must say he rather astonished me at the figure at which he insured, and made me a bit uneasy; I hadn’t such a terrible high opinion of him as to think he might not be up to tricks.”

“What do you mean by tricks?”

“Doin’ something to his insured goods that weren’t worth much, and gettin’ for ’em payment as if they was gold. But, your worship, that you’ll say ain’t to the point. No more it is’we come to facts, not opinions, don’t us? Well, I had been to Brimpts about the oak we was fellin’ and barkin’, and I wanted to tell my brother-in-law as how I thought we could deal with the dockyard at Portsmouth. So I left the moor and drove down in my conveyance,’which is nothing but a donkey cart and a jackass to draw’n,’and when I came in the dark o’ the evening to my cottage, there I found Roger Redmore in the bosom of his family, so to speak. ’Twas awk’ard for he and awk’ard for me, as there was a warrant out again’ him, and so I drove right on and on to the Cellars. I found Pasco there in the house all by hisself, which was coorious. He had sent his wife, my sister Zerah, away somewhere, and Kitty, my daughter, away somewhere else, and he was in a pretty take-on because I turned up unexpected. I didn’t quite understand why he was in so poor a temper, and why he should turn me out of the house as he did’and I had got nowhere to go to for a night’s lodgin’. You see, your worships, I couldn’t go home, what wi’ all the beds and every hole and corner chockfull o’ childer as thick as fleas in a dog’s back, not to mention the woman and that chap Roger in hiding, who didn’t want to be found. But Pasco, he wouldn’t listen to reason, and he was that suspicious and that queer in all his goings-on, that I thought some mischief wor up, and that I’d bide handy and keep an eye on him. Well, gentlemen, when he jostled me out o’ the house door, I went to the warehouse, and it wasn’t locked, so I stepped in and found the ladder and clambered up that. Thinks I to myself, if Pasco don’t mean no wickedness, well, I can sleep here comfortable enough, anyhow. There were plenty o’ fleeces’they weren’t over clean and sweet, but in such a case one can’t be partic’lar. I hadn’t been there a terrible long time before I heard the door open and I see’d a light. So I went to the ladder head and looked down, and there sure enough wor Pasco! I watched him awhile to see what May-games he wor up to, and at last I spied what it wor. He were arranging and settling shavings among the coal knobs, so as to make up grand fires, and he was gettin’ everything ready to burn down the whole consarn, coals and fleeces and building, and me in it, if I were that jack fool to bide where I was. So I hollered out to he, and let ’n understand who was there, and that I marked his little game. I were on the ladder. He looked towards me, and came at me, and shook the ladder, and shook me down, and I fell on my head, I reckon, and remember nothing more till I came to myself, bound hand and foot in a sack, and throwed a-top of a heap o’ coal, that were afire and fizzing out in flame and smoke, and a’most stifled I were, and didn’t know ’xactly where I were, whether I’d got to the wrong place down below. I cried out, and I tried to get free, but couldn’t move, and then I rolled myself down over fire and coals, and scorched I were a bit; but what’d been the end I cannot tell, if it had not been for Roger Redmore, who broke open the door and came in, and dragged me out of the smoke and smother, and cut the bands and got me out o’ the sack, and helped me off to where his missis were, that is to say, my cottage.”

Jason paused and looked about him.

“That, I reckon, is the first chapter. Now to go on. When I came there, I thought it all over, and I got Roger to put me in the outhouse, where none of the children might see, and himself he dursn’t bide more than the night lest he should be took, but he told Jane to mind me and let me have what I wanted. Well, I turned the matter well over in my head, and I thought as how Pasco were my brother-in-law, and if all came out, I’d bring trouble on Zerah, and on my own child; I’d have to say as how Pasco had fired his own building so as to get the insurance money, and tried to kill me too, ’cause I see’d what he were up to. So I didn’t like to do that, and I thought it ’ud be best for all parties if I got out o’ the way. I dursn’t stir all the day that followed. But at night I got out when I knowed the tide was suitable, and I took the old boat at the Cellars and I made off wi’ that, and I rowed out to sea, and rowed along the coast to Torquay, and I landed there, and there I ha’ been, unbeknown to the Coombe folk’there or in London. When I’d been a bit to Torquay, I seemed to smell money. I see’d as how a lot o’ fortune could be got there by building and making a great place of it for invalids and such folk; and I went up to London to start a company, and get a building firm to take the matter up. I’ve been off and on about this idee, and a fine idee it is like to turn out’so I reckon. I did hear as how Pasco, he’d dra’ed twelve hundred pounds out o’ the insurance company. Blessed if I knowed ’xactly what I should do. On the one side, I were agent for the company; on the other, I were brother-in-law to Pasco, and if I peached on Pasco, I might just as well ha’ stuck a knife into my sister’s heart. And then I owed him something for having reared my daughter in his house since she wor a baby. And Pasco and me, us got on famous together about speculations, and taken in the lump he weren’t a bad chap till he began to look to gettin’ money by burning down his warehouse.”

Jason stood up, stretched his limbs, sat down again, and proceeded’after a word of cheer to his daughter, who had risen and was standing speechless, looking at him with dismayed eyes. She knew that her uncle was false, but Jason had revealed a depth of wickedness in the man which she had not conceived to be possible.

She had been satisfied that he had set fire to his magazines for the sake of the insurance, and she knew that, basely, he endeavoured to throw the guilt of the act on her. She had feared that her father had been sacrificed when the warehouse was burned, but had never supposed that her uncle had done this deliberately.

“Now,” continued Quarm, “I reckon I come to the third chapter. After a bit, I thought I’d come back to Coombe, but not openly, and see how Kitty were getting along. So I came unbeknown to everyone, and went to Mrs. Redmore, and her put me in the same old outhouse as I were in before, and I told her, as she worked at the Cellars, to say nothing about it to Kitty, but find an excuse for getting her out from the house after dark. That is what Jane Redmore did, and I met Kitty at the rick, and us went together behind the rick, so as the light might not be seen from the house whilst we talked. Well, I’d been wi’out my bacca-pipe for some time, and seein’ as how Kitty had a light, I told her to open the lantern, and I’d have a bit o’ a smoke for comfort. Her opened the lantern door’but Lor’! gentlemen, I han’t told you how struck wi’ amaze and main glad the little maid was to see her father, whom she had believed to be dead, come to life again, hearty and wi’ fine prospects of makin’ money out of building speculations to Torquay. But you must imagine all that, your worships; it ain’t, as you may say, to the point; but this here little affair o’ the pipe and lightin’ it is. Well, when she opened the lantern door, I took out the bit end of a candle as was therein, and I put it to my pipe to kindle my ’baccy. She was talkin’ and tellin’ of me all as had happened, and when her said as how Pasco Pepperill had tried to lay the firing of his warehouse on she, then I were that angry I burnt my fingers wi’ the candle-end, not thinking what I were about, and throwed it down right among the straw, and afore I could say Jack Robinson, there was a blaze as no stamping would put out. The first thing Kate did was to run in, and the first thing I did was to tumble into the boat and make off. I didn’t know what the consequences might be, and I first thought I’d consider it, and learn what came of it all before I stirred. If Pasco didn’t make a fuss, why, it might pass and no harm come of it; if he made a stir, why, all must come out. The little maid, I reckon, she would say nothing, because her knowed it was my doing the stack catching alight, and thought she’d bring me into trouble; and then there was that other fire behind; she didn’t know what might come if it were examined into, and I made my appearance as one returned from the dead. But I heard of it all. Jane Redmore sent to tell me. And now, your worships, I reckon I’m the guilty one of the fire, but it was accident, and she’s innocent and may be discharged. That is my story.”

The Bench withdrew for a few minutes. When the magistrates returned, the buzz of voices in court ceased at once.

“We have decided,” said the chairman, “that the case against Kate Quarm be dismissed. She leaves the court without an imputation against her character. You, Mr. Jason Quarm, must stand security in yourself and find two others to stand bail for you to reappear before the court when required.”